


So long, my darlings

by Rattle



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adorkable, Bittersweet, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Goodbyes, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Missing Scene, Motherly Shepard, Post-Mass Effect 2: Arrival, Post-Suicide Mission, everyone survived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rattle/pseuds/Rattle
Summary: She’s going back to Earth to face the music. For Bahak. But first, she’s giving each of her companions a ride home. And some partings are harder than others.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	So long, my darlings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smalta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalta/gifts).



> Thank you for all your support <3

**from: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**to: all:supportstaff@nrmndySR2**

“Good day to you all. 

I would like to ask each recipient of this message to send me the coordinates and/or denomination for your permanent disembarkation, preferably before the end of the third shift. Due to certain circumstances, it is not recommended to remain on board when the Normandyy arrives on Earth. Please send a copy of your reply to the Commander, as well as to Miss Chambers.

Disembarkation will be carried out on a first-come, first-served basis, starting from the Theta relay, and further on according to the standard chart.

Thank you in advance.

Additional reminder for Miss Chambers to transfer severance payments to the personal accounts of the main crew, ASAP.

Jeffrey Moreau.”

**from: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**to: all:missioncrew@nrmndySR2**

“Aight then boys and gals!

Our luxury cruise ship graciously offers YOU to choose your final destination! Wherever you desire, as long as it’s not through the Omega-4 relay again. All fuel costs: pulled right out the Illusive Man’s pocket. If he didn't pay you extra for something: oops, too bad, too late. Also please eat up the orange-marked rations, and maybe also that bucket of stew that Gardner's made, or it’ll spoil. It’s not poisonous, I SWEAR!

Joker.”

**from: LawBringer@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Omega. Please do not ask questions.”

First to join the crew and the first to leave it. It’s a little bit peculiar. 

“No questions, I know. But still.”

Miranda arches her brow slightly. “You’re allowed a few, Shepard. No more than five. Please.”

“Are you sure he’ll let it go? Let _you_ go. Are you sure he’s not going to come after you? The Illusive Man.”

“Mister _Harper_ ,” Miranda says with emphasis, “may now do whatever he wishes. And I will deal with his wishes as they come.”

The response is a little cryptic. Except, no, it isn’t. 

“How did it happen? You, parting ways so abruptly.”

“Aside from everything else? Rumours have reached me that he’s been in contact with my father. While concealing the fact from me. Extremely suspicious, don’t you think?”

Shepard shrugs. “Everything he does is suspicious.” Probably, even his bathroom breaks and the way he gets out of bed in the morning are dreadfully suspicious. 

“I quite agree.”

“Still. Why Omega? I’ll understand if you’d rather keep it to yourself, but...”

“Something’s brewing here,” Miranda interrupts. “Something doesn’t smell right. Aside from all the usual… aromas.”

“I see.”

Only one thing left to say. 

“Miranda, listen, I’ve been wanting to thank you for...”

“Don’t.”

“Alright. And yet. Thank you.”

She’s silent for a few seconds. A shadow of a smile on her perfect, normally unreadable, face. 

“How do you like your second life?” 

“That’s just it. Sometimes I like it more than I did my first one.”

Miranda smirks. “Glad to hear it.”

The dockside punks are watching them, flexing their not-too-concealed weapons. One of them might be dumb enough to follow Miranda and try to pounce on her in some dirty alley later. The last mistake they would ever make in this life.

**from: chatikaisbestboye@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“I’d say home, but you’ve done so much for me already, it doesn’t feel right to ask you to go back to where the Fleet is now, it’s too far. Maybe I’ll just hop on some shuttle from the Citadel?”

**from: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**to: chatikaisbestboye@nrmndySR2**

“Tali, have you gone off your rocker? Of course we’ll get you straight home. Gimme the coordinates.

P.S. us, doing a lot for YOU? WTH Tali it’s the other way around, come on.”

Three of them board the Rayya. Tali, Shepard, and Joker. Why he asked to come, “as a tourist”, only the devil knows. Shepard certainly doesn’t. Allegedly, “to see how stuff works there.” Which stuff?! Took about half an hour to stuff him into a pressure suit. Managed not to break anything; A miracle. 

He’s standing next to the conservatory now. Gawking. 

“Take care of yourself, Tali. Alright?”

“Not such a hard thing to do when no one’s ordering me into molten tunnels!”

They both laugh. It’s a nervous laughter, though. Here, only Tali truly knows what’s coming. And the duty to convince others is on her frail shoulders now. But Shepard believes in her. And Tali’s shoulders aren’t that frail, anyway. 

Two patrolmen are walking down the corridor, approaching Joker. Their posture is quite intimidating. They stop dead in their tracks upon seeing Tali. Shepard notices their tension despite the hermetical suits. That court hearing wasn’t entirely convincing to some, in the end. 

“Hey, folks,” Joker yells. “Been meaning to tell you something.”

The patrolmen turn to face him. 

“Here’s the deal. If you offend or belittle her in any way, I’m going to come back here, strip myself naked and run around, coughing, until you shoot me.”

The patrolmen, still silent, grasp their guns tighter. 

“You, er, aren’t a very fast or efficient runner,” Tali says in a slightly startled voice, evidently trying to diffuse the awkward situation. 

“Fine. I’ll also fart along with coughing. For increased efficiency.”

The patrolmen exchange looks. 

“Alright, that’s it, Joker, we’re out of here.” Goddamn “tourist”... 

Tali takes a step backwards but, at the last moment, grips her forearm. 

“You should also take care of yourself, Shepard. Please.”

“You know me. There’s nothing I love more than comfort, safety and a quiet life.”

**from: traviscoates@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Citadel?”

**from: nofunnystuffJ0@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Citadel. YES, really!”

**from: thebluewidow@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Citadel, Joker.”

**from: enkindlethis@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Citadel. I thank you.”

**from: turtlesallthewaydown@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Citadel! Matriarch Cleodno’s art exhibition there soon, wouldn’t want to miss it... ;)”

Ninety percent of staff and crew disembark on the Citadel. Doctor Chakwas. Thane. Jacob. Kasumi. Samara. And, surprisingly, Jack. The latter (even more surprising) puts on a shirt and some kind of jacket. All these goodbyes are very short. The process reminds her of a conveyor belt. 

Regular crew is the quickest to say their farewells, briefly shaking her hand and immediately retreating. Some of them aren’t returning to duty. Ever. Shepard understands. No blame and no shame in this. Not after what they’ve been through. Gardner flexes his newly acquired job offer from some restaurant. Kelly carries the fishes away in a portable aquarium. Shepard was the one to ask her to do it. 

It’s over, the customs hall is finally empty. She’s about to turn and walk away when a disembodied finger appears out of thin air. 

“Boop,” Kasumi says, invisible, and touches the tip of her nose.

Now it’s over for sure. 

**from: donaldwheresyertroosers@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“We’re staying. I’d explain more but Gabby said, don’t. She had a talk with the Commander already. If ya wanna bet that we’re getting arrested and not just sent to fix some Alliance stuff, I got a 16yo Lagavulin, whatcha got? Anyway, even if we get arrested the main thing is we’ll be locked up in there and not, you know.”

The ship is empty. Feels desolate. Shepard goes around the crew deck. All the bunks are neatly made, navy-style. Lights are off in the med wing. Life support, sealed again. So quiet, it would have probably caused Tali to suffer from insomnia again. 

Except, she hears faint… jazz?

Shepard steps into the lounge. No paper books, paintings or sculptures here anymore. But Kasumi left behind a few sealed bottles, a camel-hair blanket and that barely discernible, pleasant scent of her presence. The stereo is playing John Coltrane. 

“Boop.” Shepard sighs and turns it off. She no longer wants to be here.

The engineers are skulking in their cubbyhole. Now that Jack is gone, this is, once again, their sacred turf. Kenn passes a small flat bottle to Gabby, they take turns snapping pieces off a chocolate bar with their bared teeth. 

“Eek,” says Gabby. 

Ken chuckles quietly and gently.

Not that they're allowed alcohol on duty but who cares now. 

Shepard takes two steps. 

“I’m really sorry,” she says. 

“All good, Commander,” Gabby replies. 

“Yeah, s’all good,” Ken repeats. “Really. That’s what we both want.”

“But mostly me,” says Gabby. 

**from: brevitysoulofwit@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Sur’Kesh. Any STG base acceptable. Recommend notifying base in advance. Arrival without warning potentially problematic. Access code attached.”

The shuttle stayed docked with them for exactly fourty seven seconds. Incredible speed, incredible efficiency. They probably always have a choice in mind: you either take your time, or live. 

Thirty seconds would have been enough if the two of them did not stop to say goodbye in person. 

“Regret you not seeing Sur’Kesh from surface. Landscapes exceptionally picturesque for conscious life forms with appropriate… pheromones. ”

“Mordin...”

“Extending an open invitation to visit whenever possible.”

“Mordin.”

“Goodbye, Commander.”

“Till we meet again. And… thank you.”

“Gratitude unnecessary. Had a great time. Did not expect to survive. And, Commander.”

“Yes?”

“Left gifts.”

The lab is also empty now. There's barely anything of note except for the instruments, which are now completely white and sterile, as if they were brand new. There are no longer piles of bottles, no flasks with samples, no mountain of datapads, no containers with those disgusting “insects”. But there’s a small cardboard box next to the microscope. 

“According to calculations, should be enough for over three hundred sexual encounters. Typical degree of intensity, taken into account.”

There’s an ample supply of antihistamine, one that safely escorts D-Amino acids out the door in case they’re ingested. 

And ointment for skin irritation. The latter, she’d already used twice. Helps a lot, and fast, even when inner thighs are chafed nearly bloody. 

The only remaining datapad is right next to it. With a recording of “Iolanthe”. Shepard puts in on and listens, on the way to the Pranas-1 relay. Part of the Fairy Queen is performed by a hanar with a pleasant, albeit simulated, contralto (“This one fares thee well, oxygen-inhaling stranger”). Mordin sounds like he’s having a lot of fun. And it’s a comedy. So why does she feel like crying? 

**from: thepurrfectkrogan@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Wanna go to Tupchanka get me wher clan Urndot URDNOT!!11”

“Gun oil.”

“Here.”

“Tools for shotgun repair.”

“Here.”

“Where are the replacement armour plates?”

“Don’t need any.”

“Grunt!”

“They’ll give me some...”

“What if it’s some rusty crap? This won’t do. Take these, chop-chop.”

“Shepa-a-a-a-aaaard, come o-o-on!”

“I’ll have none of your _come-ons_ , just take them.”

“But Shepa-a-a-a-ard!”

“Don’t argue with her, kid, just take the damn plates. Haven’t you spent enough time with Shepard to know she’d always out-stubborn you?”

Huffing and puffing, scoffing and eye rolling. 

“Thank you, Wrex. And thanks for coming to meet us.”

“No trouble, Shepard. What’s this? Heavy. A whole spare armour?”

“It’s a container.”

“I can damn well see it’s a container, what’s in it?”

A pause. A very long one. 

“It’s, er, buttered noodles. With Armenian meatballs.”

“The what with what, now?”

A heavy sigh. 

“Noodles. Buttered. With meatballs. Wrex, just… just freeze it for later, okay? After that absolutely dreadful week when he only ate this... Refusing any other food. Aggressively… You have to. So, just in case… Alright?”

“Alright, alright. Don’t panic. Gonna be fine. Gonna take good care of your… soldier.”

“Thanks. Hey, where’re you going?”

“Around the corner for a minute. Can see he wants to hug you, but too embarrassed to do it in front of me.” 

**from: goddamnright@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

“Fuck it, Eden Prime.”

She’d forgotten how idyllic it is when you don’t come in guns a-blazing. Was there anything to remember, did she even register the rural idyll back then? Weather’s great. This is where it all started. Under this sun, among these green fields. A sudden superstitious horror is tugging at her sleeve but for a second: what if it all ends here, as well?

“So, uhm, Zaeed. Led here by a contract, I assume?”

“Gonna be no fuckin’ contracts for a while, Shepard. Nah, your pal the Illusive Man paid me a whole goddamn chest of credits. Need to rest now. Lay down.”

“You? Rest? Lay down?”

“I’m a goddamn living being, too, you know.”

He extends his hand before she does. Unusual. 

She shakes it. A sudden impulse to say, “Rest well, alright?” So she does. 

“Hah!” He places the box with Jessie on one shoulder, and the container with his belongings, on the other, turns around, and walks, limping slightly, through the crowd of onlookers.

“You hear that, schmucks? Commander Shepard’s telling me to rest well. You're gonna keep your heads till spring, at least.”

**from: wheresthetrigger@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**copy: commandershepard@nrmndySR2**

“Pass. Take me with you.”

**from: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**to: wheresthetrigger@nrmndySR2**

**copy: commandershepard@nrmndySR2**

“Passing is not an option. What is this, Garrus, a magical land of opportunity?”

**from: commandershepard@nrmndySR2**

**to: wheresthetrigger@nrmndySR2**

“I’m sorry, Garrus. Earth is really not an option for you now. We need to arrive empty, there’s a chance they will take everyone on board into custody. Normandy is ending up in dry dock, I guarantee it. And your presence might cause a diplomatic incident.

I am really sorry.

Please, choose any other place.”

**from: wheresthetrigger@nrmndySR2**

**to: dangerzone2155@nrmndySR2**

**hidden copy: commandershepard@nrmndySR2**

“Fine, Joker, Palaven then. Time to talk to my father face to face.”

The warship port is the highest point of the city. She’s looking down from the open platform, sensing that she is no longer alone. That he just stepped out the shuttle, rifle in tow, and is now standing behind her. Silent, waiting… She needs to turn around, but this will mean: the end. 

Cipritine is unlike any place on Earth she’d seen. The conglomeration of unfamiliar architecture makes her head spin. The city is surrounded by sharp cliffs on three sides and a crimson ocean on the fourth. And it looks old. Very old. Probably, those who'd tried to approach it by land or water suffered one bloodied defeat after another. The city’s defense capabilities are admirable. Or used to be. Until it became possible to approach it from the sky. 

And the obligatory pressure suit won’t even let her smell the air, but Shepard thinks she knows what these frightful and spectacular mountains smell like, as well as the raging crimson waters that are relentlessly besieging the mooring wall. 

Heated metal. Gun oil. Mesquite smoke. A juniper leaf crushed between thumb and forefinger. Garrus. 

“Shepard...”

She turns. 

The suit won't allow other things, either. For example, to come as close to him as possible and inhale this scent again, one last time. Damn Palaven. Damn radiation. She's mad at radiation!

“Sorry, got entranced by the view. Beautiful place.”

“Really?” His mandibles twitch. A shadow of amusement. Disappears after a moment. 

“Nah, it’s a dumpster, Garrus. How does one even live here, no one but those goddamn turians around.”

“Shepard...”

He’s not laughing. And he shakes his head. This looks painfully human. He takes a step forward. And then another. Considering how much he hates public displays of affection (thanks, dad!), the gesture feels almost intimate. She tries to convince herself that it is. But wants infinitely more.

“What are they going to do to you?”

They were supposed to discuss it last night. That’s why he came over, allegedly, to discuss things, to ask questions. Instead of the latter: sharp elbows, and that long rough tongue on her, and panting, and a pile of clothes and armour on the floor, and the empty aquarium was rattling so loudly and mournfully that for a moment it seemed like it was about to fall apart, and she bit into the almost soft skin on his neck, and is now looking at a nearly perfect print of her own teeth that he could have covered but didn’t (on purpose?), and zero discussions. When she woke up to “ETA to Palaven, thirty” out of the loudspeaker, and turned, he was there. Staring. His electric blue eyes did look at her questioningly, she thought. But he didn’t spell any of the questions out loud. Until now. 

“I don’t know.”

She would have liked to know. She can only guess. They seem biased towards her, and it’s honestly unclear how much of that bias is positive. Not a lot, most likely. 

“They’ll probably lock me up. No extranet access, no mail. If I go silent… Look, they still consider us loonies.”

 _So a discharge and a court martial_ remains unsaid. 

“They’re getting their proof sooner or later. The most important thing is that they do not get it when it’s _too_ late.”

“Quite.”

They’ve said their goodbyes. Been saying them for hours. Wordless. 

No point in staying. No willpower to leave. 

_Have to._

“Garrus, I—”

So many goddamn things will remain unsaid. She extends her hand to him almost absentmindedly. And so many handshakes in these last few days… Only one remaining. This one, the hardest one of all. 

A few heartbeats elapse. Garrus responds to this — also maddeningly human — gesture, reaching, carefully squeezing her fingers. He puts his other hand on top of them. He lingers for three more heartbeats. A few more, and he’ll be gone.

“Yes, Shepard?”

“I’ll be thinking about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> To avoid excessive cringe, let us assume Joker made up all these usernames himself.


End file.
